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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27733411">Gooey Dies on a Hungry Holiday</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NullBubby/pseuds/NullBubby'>NullBubby</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gooey Dies.zip [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kirby (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>gooey friccin dies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:27:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,327</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27733411</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NullBubby/pseuds/NullBubby</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gooey eats a no-no food and dies.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gooey Dies.zip [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743142</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Gooey Dies on a Hungry Holiday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No matter the perspective on the enclosed habitat of barely a couple voices boiling the standstill, nothing about gleeful eyes and equally tested tongues said much vaguely resembling joy. Maybe intended for a couple, probably expected of a positive interjection—an encore of any sort—so much played in respect to audience and tune of air, but something about fire essence’s dampening of the room didn’t quite make anything across beside stifled misstep.</p><p>That, of course, didn’t prevent one listener from giving some faded spoof at such a bore he hated to admit himself. Far away and back, it was something noteworthy, spectacular, so culminating in the fling of tongue and splat of drool, a motion so mesmerizingly droned he couldn’t tell what anything was supposed to be, a name as equally illusive, but a bit in conversing revealed it was “spinning”.</p><p>He spinninged to the midst of warm light, he swayed so ferociously fast in line with a steady tap and himself, nearer the table of the pale floor, all over dripping in color so imagined he must’ve been drooling from it. To a final conclusion, he’d have never hoped as far as his performance brought an applause of a sigh—an unfortunate plight, but just as big a sight ahead.</p><p>“Hey?” he almost whispered, tingled by joy.</p><p>He hopped and twisted his tongue to the ceiling, all in steady coordination so to not dampen anything he didn’t want to.</p><p>“Why don’t you go ahead and spin your spit somewhere where it won’t slobber up my just-cleaned hat, huh? How about it?”</p><p>The performance continued, the wonderful wisdom of words continuing a cheer onward of whatever they meant. So joyful, he sounded, it was impossible not to return the favor of his delight, a boundy nod of his face cleaning his stillness from and to a blank stare.</p><p>“Yeah...  you get that?” He reformed his stature atop the stand, towering a good droplet higher than he did without his feet positioned. “Then go over there and do it! And take your super-slobber, too! No, don’t just <em> refrain </em> from spilling it on everything you can get your eyes on. Take all that and that sloppy mess of your tongue outta here! You want <em> me </em> to lick you or something?”</p><p> His face outstretched again, recognized the familiar sound of approval.</p><p>“Don’t answer that question.”</p><p>“Marx!” came a distant voice, echoing of far.</p><p>The hall shook behind, a gaze situated toward in an instant, yet not enough of an explosion to distract of the ground’s own acquaintanceship. A second stood with a hard stamp of the chair beside, too plain for much an occurrence responding, and his eyes wandered the silence.</p><p>“What is it now?” the rear sighed.</p><p>“That little...  thing of yours! That blob, it keeps flicking spit everywhere, get it out of here!”</p><p>“Why—”</p><p>“Or y’know what? How about just keep it in a cage, then stick that cage in the bottom of this whole ship, then blast off, go up, come down, and crash down on it so we’ll never have to see it ever again, you hear?”</p><p>“Marx...” A puff again came, instead signaling a mumble and a groan. “I’m just as confused as you are why he’s here, but I’m not kicking him out just because he didn’t see you when he decided to try helicoptering out of the universe again. Look, I get he’s a bit annoying at times...”</p><p>The ground turned from him, a tall, blue egg showed in the entry of the endless corridor behind him. Beside, an equally round spectacle tore the air with assertions much less quiet, but it took just a single repetition of a name to silence the surroundings again.</p><p>“How about I keep him in the kitchen, hmm? Would that do you any good?”</p><p>“Long as he isn’t pushing his tongue on me,” he grumbled.</p><p>“I’ll even lock the doors.”</p><p>“And that means he <em> won’t </em> be coming out?”</p><p>“Yeah—”</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>The room stood in its quietude once more, an appetite for its meal of whatever readied in audible bits, crushed noise somewhere so deep below it looped back around to mean nothing different than what it initially appeared. Down another breath, it eagerly called his assistance some time again—he knew just the perfect solution for its claim to hunger, but trash cans didn’t look too abundant around.</p><p>A warmth groped him by the top and tugged till his vision struck the chest of a delicious blue just before. He eagerly stuck his tongue out, though enough discouragement came of the wince to drop a to trampled blade, his face plummeting to the ground in combination with a word. Another applause came, then the ground smeared his drool right down beneath where it came from, savored for mostly a drop or two to get to know each other when it felt to stop setting something along.</p><p>It came twice, then the door faced his view, as did the same robes and hovering hands started a reach toward. He sagged to the turn and lack of stare toward him.</p><p>“Sorry, Gooey, I...  I know you can behave yourself, but this is an important day for me, okay? Please don’t take any hard feelings from this, I really don’t mean anything.”</p><p>With a final wave up so high above his soft squint, the egg left the room with shifting panels again, the sigh of its last exhaust so recklessly diminished in maybe half a moment—his tongue was too slobbered to tell. It was far too late, anyway, as mentioned by the murky call of that voice again...  it’d taste a lot better hard-boiled. The wrapping was more indecisive, but blue surely was a snuggly color by what it’d looked.</p><p>“So...  y’know, sorry for him.”</p><p>He immediately bumped and fell, face generally pointed toward the scent of nonexistent sound outside. His tongue gaped at the opportunity and scavenged forward for clues, regardless if ready for an offtracking by an apple or two, though its doubtless fame led to misfortune in the held moment him and the door gave a hard stare.</p><p>It wasn’t ready to give up just yet, though, and with another squint of the prize in sight, the ferocity was turned up, nothing close to willingness to sacrifice all seconds released for the end goal. Something—he’d figure it out eventually—but a sparked scent, so juicy and endlessly breeched by sweetness, couldn’t hold back any sort of stillness in even the greatest static forces of bottles and whatnot.</p><p>The first bowl crashed, then another, and all but his eye met anything. It was awfully comfortable, given the desire it’d held, but frankly, his mind was far too set to acknowledge much anything regarding the newfound mixer gifted him the presence of an awkward, yet serviceable income of heat for his head. Even in the tightest situations, it was <em> always </em> safety first...  maybe that tongue, actually.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, cool. What’s even up with it being here, anyway? You miss telling me about some...  ‘experiment’ or something of yours?”</p><p>A door opened, to the far world of outside revealed an entire mirror of emptiness. It shut, then too did the next four or five thousand cupboards leading up to the slightest difference in color of the locale’s deepest innards.</p><p>“What? No, I don’t even know how he got here in the first place.”</p><p>“Then why don’t you just go ahead and throw it out if it isn’t s’posed to be here?”</p><p>He’d met an odd spectacle...  whatever it was. Fairly close in stature, shape...  maybe expression, though he couldn’t see if his own face was pitch-blank. Pretty wide, it looked, the section wasn’t much for height itself, but the brief plate above it was sure enough a complement to induce the biggest tangling session of his own slobbered flail.</p><p>“Because...  he’s one of us.”</p><p>“Yeah, I bet.”</p><p>A light exploded so dimly upon the air it wasn’t clear whether his tongue or its drool was to cause of some unnatural ability. Time struck with late instruction—a bit of missed realization in all that—and his face recoiled at the foe before him. Hopped back, his eyes rolled, scanned forward for information on the new quest he and his bowl-companion had readied to complete, but all before him was an image.</p><p>The face gazed into him rather plainly. Outside, it only looked two of those circle-things others used to see...  whatever they were called, a whole amount of them he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. One nearer squish, then the whole planet forming their eye rose some form of incompetence, a rather roundish, yet not entirely whole glance forming the empty expression formed in a stare alone. Their stance stood the ground in static feet, sides held not even air in stubs maybe called hands or something, all perfected together under the backward-command of its metal reach on head.</p><p>“Like—ya’ remember her? Uh...  pink-girl, something-something robots and whatever ‘bout her, you remember? Pretty sure we’ve both gotten an idea to how she’s ‘one of us’ too.”</p><p>The second session fell abruptly, more so due to the desired scent more than the lacking face of whatever he was trying to lick in the first place. His mouth reached sideways, then the ground trembled without indication at the imagined sag. He turned back—inexpressive eyes again forming—hopped toward, helmet ready for battle, but he didn’t feel too keen on letting so much another second empty.</p><p>“Okay, well...”</p><p>He rubbed his front against it. A beep sounded, and he retreated back to its forward, where many stockpiles of flat boxes fitted its new face.</p><p>“She’s done better recently. Yes, I also know the whole story, but no one’s out to hurt each other anymore.”</p><p>The first, second, and third sets of incomprehensible language stunned him to a new high of dizziness he never even knew as the lurking scent again lured him a slip away from the scene. Whatever taste in his mouth, regardless of similar indistinctness, held back a moment, then more, and finally he couldn’t stand the lack of knowledge of the figure again before him.</p><p>It was...  odd. He tried some conversing...  it didn’t talk. A greeting...  it didn’t respond. So many inquires he flung forward in utter disregard to the sole cohort of the entire world of eyesight, and soon, in a blind rampage of lacking much anything requested, he took it too far.</p><p>The damage was irreversible. His tongue was left standing on the ground, another lingerer over it fretfully reminding him of the pain he was never to redeem himself for, but the figure didn’t appear to care much with inexpressive expression reappeared.</p><p>“I should probably go check on the food, actually. I bet it’d be ready by now.”</p><p>A distant grumble formed the way—where to, he had no idea, but food awaited him from so many minutes ago. The journey pressed, him following in distinctness of googly eyes, again past the cabinets, again over the same vague colorations of floor, and finally, after the arduous task of leaving a good many seconds from that other fellow, whatever it’d called itself, a conclusion had been reached for everyone.</p><p>Maybe not?</p><p>That other didn’t look to like moving a lot...  but that was fine. They’d needed a name, of course, like all good friends. <em> Stop-Stander</em>? Or...  maybe <em> Pause-Seer</em>? Or...  how about <em> Halt-Worker</em>?</p><p>Then the only issue was reaching the basket in question, but a quick flick of the tongue was all necessary, it turned out.</p><p>“Gooey?” the door responded to his devouring with. Another shift, too, but that wasn’t much concerning. “Gooey, what’d you—”</p><p>The basket dropped whole into his mouth, as did the rather pointy arrangement of apples contained many moments prior. Upon sure doing of his own, the floor again sighed somewhere near the door and spun so hard he almost crashed into the new friend he’d made in just the past silence. Dizzy, he did his best to steer clear of any damage and soon settled on sagged stillness in the midst of all scattered plates and bowls, whatever replicas still topped his own body with.</p><p>“Oh...” His hands fell, and his eyes dispersed with repositioning beside a brick edged beside the wall. “Oh...  no.”</p><p>A face again stared down to him, wearily, trembly from their own designations. He again accepted the praise.</p><p>“What did you just eat?” he droned in a grating whisper.</p><p>He stuck his body toward the counter in question, something of such wonderful flavor he never knew possible. A paleness reached to his face, spattered shivers, and pulled him back so softly he hardly noticed the slide of the acquaintance near the wall.</p><p>“I...  see you’ve also gotten something out of that scrap I found—but please, tell you did <em> not </em>just eat those apples.”</p><p>He shook gleefully—not from himself, actually, but he quite enjoyed the ride.</p><p>“Gooey...  those were my fake Gem Apples. You know what that means?”</p><p>He squinted his posture and shook his face.</p><p>“Those were...  <em> explosives</em>.”</p><p>Oh? That really should’ve been made clearer, last he recalled taking a devouring scent of an apple bowl, he didn’t remember there being any bombs. Or...  where, actually?</p><p>The air picked an uneven set of gasps and wheezes, panicking of a sole figure darting around the room faster than he could count the number of eyes appearing and disappearing by the merest turn of the face. It was disappointing he didn’t feel like joining in—he really would’ve if he could’ve—but an insincere performance was as good as none at all. More than anything, he was dripping, some warm memory seeping out to fill his face with some burst of energy, but...  the walls felt alright to the touch.</p><p>Of course, that was just with his tongue. There was plenty else eager for devouring, but such a time could probably wait for friends.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanksgiving special I guess.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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